


You and Me Could Write a Bad Romance

by StVincent



Category: RWBY
Genre: Comedy, F/F, Fic within a Fic, Fluff, Meta comedy, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StVincent/pseuds/StVincent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's patience snaps as she helps edit Yang's essays. Blake's apology doesn't go well, however, and Yang is left to improve her writing skills while still feeling a little vengeful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I want your love (for copy editing)

**Author's Note:**

> I've always maintained that I'm an editor, not a fic writer, but frustration over my inability to mute those editor tendencies while trawling through AO3/FFN culminated in writing this as cathartic relief. _Feel my pain._

Most people knew Yang’s semblance was her ability to take hits and use them to fuel her own devastating attacks. Blake knew better; Yang’s real superpower was her awful grammar. Her ability to get it wrong was downright _uncanny_. When they had mutually confessed their feelings they had pledged to do anything for one another, but Blake was beginning to regret that. Their fledgling relationship was fine—spectacular, really—but agreeing to proofread Yang’s essays was fast proving to be a nightmare for the more literary-minded of the pair. It made sense that most of Yang’s trouble was with homophones: she seemed to be an auditory learner and did not care as much for reading, but she was far from stupid. She simply wrote as she spoke, and many of her errors in writing would be non-existent if read aloud. But essays had to be written, and in order to receive better grades they needed to be error-free.

“But you use an apostrophe in a possessive. ‘A beowolf uses _it’s_ claws...’ The claws belong to it! It’s a possessive!” Yang protested. 

Blake was convinced she could hear the improper inclusion of the apostrophe in Yang’s quote. “Okay, you’re generally right about possessives. But English is weird—”

A huff of vehement agreement emanated from the vicinity of the desk.

Blake leaned over Yang’s shoulder to point at the offending sentence and soldiered on. “Here, ‘its’ is a possessive pronoun so it is inherently possessive, therefore it is duplicative and downright improper to use an apostrophe to show possession when such possession is already denoted. Instead you have created a contraction reading ‘A beowolf uses _it is_ claws...’ but that is not what you intend to communicate.” The faunus’ eyes narrowed a fraction as she caught herself retreating into unnecessarily stuffy wording in a knee-jerk reaction to bad grammar.

Yang turned to pull a comically cross-eyed expression at Blake, but deleted the offending apostrophe with no further complaint about the idiocies of English grammar, nor any comment about the wording of her girlfriend’s explanation. She uncrossed her lilac eyes and focused them back on her scroll. “So, what else have I got wrong, _professor_?” Her tone was light, but the slight emphasis she put on the last word carried a twinge of irritation. “I know there are more errors ’cause your ears twitched a bunch of times when you skimmed my draft.”

Black cat-ears twitched involuntarily again at the memory and Blake continued with her corrections. Five single-spaced pages later, she was thankful that Yang’s back was turned as she rubbed her thumb and index finger across her forehead, fighting off a creeping sense of irritation at the brawler dutifully—if a little sullenly—tapping away at her scroll. An hour of whack-a-mole with grammatical errors had worn Blake’s patience thin but she went on, “Well, there’s your use of ‘affect’ and ‘effect.’ When something has an _e_ ffect, it _a_ ffects something.” Blake enunciated the words, carefully distinguishing the different pronunciations.

“They’re... different words? Oh.” 

“You didn’t know that ‘affect’ and ‘effect’ are different words?” Blake had detected genuine perplexity in Yang’s response, but it did not stop her tone from rising with incredulity.

“I guess I kinda knew, but I never really paid attention.”

“You need to pay attention, then!” Blake’s admonition cracked like a whip as her final thread of patience snapped.

The ominous silence that followed ended abruptly with the sound of a scroll being backhanded off the desk and the harsh scrape of chair legs across the floor. Evidently Yang’s own patience was at its end, too, as she pulled herself upright to confront Blake. “I know! I’m _trying_ my best here!” She drew her brows together in a frustrated furrow and her shoulders into an aggressive hunch.

“Well, you’re _trying_ my patience! You need to do _better_! If I see more than one error per hundred words in your next essay, that’ll be a night without cuddling.” Despite the unstrung outburst that preceded it, there was steely composure in the ultimatum.

Yang’s building anger turned to shock as she processed the words. “You wouldn’t! You _couldn’t_!” she gasped and gawped.

“Try. Me.” Blake ground out the clipped syllables. “And _dust help you_ if you get someone else to proofread it first. You’ll be wishing a week without cuddles is all you have to suffer.” She punctuated the pronouns in the threat with jabs of her index finger to Yang’s sternum as her frustration boiled over. “You’re not stupid, but how are you so bad at this? This is stuff you learn in grade school!” She immediately regretted her choice of words as she remembered Yang’s broken childhood, but the hand she clapped to her mouth could not undo her transgression.

“My _grade school_ years were spent trying to raise Ru—” Yang snarled with arms half-raised from her sides and hands curling into fists, but stopped short as she saw the mortification—and _fear?_ —that clouded Blake’s amber eyes. Yang’s heart ached to see her girlfriend like this, even if Blake had brought it upon herself.

The faunus desperately tried to bandage over the wounds she had foolishly opened even as she fought against a sense of dread, terrified that she was pushing away the one presence that grounded her. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry I snapped at you. I know you’re working hard for the team’s sake, and I appreciate that.” Blake paused. “The _team_ appreciates that. And I... I really shouldn’t have said what I did.” She laid a penitent kiss on Yang’s collarbone as she lowered her forehead into the brawler’s shoulder before drawing the braceleted wrists gently downwards. “I’m really sorry,” she murmured, and then exhaled in relief a few moments later as the clenched fists relaxed and their fingers intertwined. “I wish I could take back what I said.”

“Does that mean—”

“No, my ultimatum still stands. Your next essay needs to be much better than this draft.” Blake guessed at the rest of the question before Yang could finish and was rewarded by a belligerent growl in response. She took a half-step back to look into frowning lilac eyes. “But I will take you out on a lunch date this weekend to apologize for snapping at you. I really am sorry for what I said.” She felt a reassuring squeeze on her hands but could not fully tamp down her fear that she had truly gone too far.

Yang must have seen the negative emotions that flickered across Blake’s face because the brawler immediately dropped the faunus’ hands and caught her in a tight embrace. They stood together for a few moments as tension drained and emotions calmed. “Of course I accept your apology.” She began to disentangle herself, “I’ve got a lot to teach myself, so I guess I should get started.” 

Blake reluctantly let the warm presence go as she reached for her scroll. “I’m not asking you to do this alone. I’ll tutor you on grammar, but I want to you push yourself _just a little_ harder,” Blake said, putting gentle emphasis on her words. Her amber eyes softened, “I’ll make you a list of the recurring errors I see in your drafts and I’ll find you some books on grammar in the library.”


	2. I want your revenge (for making you pay attention to grammar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italics are for internal monologues. Hopefully that's sufficiently clear.

Yang bounded out of their room in good spirits, channeling her excess energy into her morning training routine. She had a few hours to burn some of her energy and work up an appetite—if Blake was treating her to lunch, she might as well make the most of it. Of course she was also excited to spend some one-on-one time with her girlfriend, a rarity since team-time and schoolwork occupied most of their waking hours.

Blake, however, had a slower start. She had slept fitfully, still haunted by her outburst and fretful about making a more thorough apology at lunch. With a book in tow, the faunus found a sturdy perch in a tree and settled down to read. But as she started into her romance novel—not smut, _thank you very much_ —the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy warmed her body and lethargy seeped back into her limbs. _I’ve still got a few hours before lunch time so a c— ... a nap won’t hurt,_ she reasoned to herself. _I wonder if it still counts as making a pun if I had to deliberately not make the pun?_ came one more idle thought as she surrendered to sleep.

* * *

At five past noon, Yang dashed back into their dorm. “Hey, kitten, sorry I’m running late—” Her apology, and her feet, came to a screeching halt as she realized the room was empty. Her confusion was only compounded by the sound of a scroll alarm by Blake’s pillow. Yang reached for the beeping scroll, vaguely noting that the scheduled event was “11:45am: Apologize. Thoroughly.” before shutting it off.

“Okay, Blake’s probably not in the bathroom ’cause she’d certainly be able to hear the alarm going off for twenty minutes with those cute kitty ears of hers,” Yang muttered to herself before checking anyways. “Alright, she’s not here. She must have headed out the dorm and forgotten her scroll.” Yang typed out a quick message to Blake in case the faunus returned to the room. “Where r u??? >:(” _Ah, no._ Yang thought better of it and deleted the angry face replacing it with “;_;” before hitting send. 

Yang ducked back into the hall, listening at JNPR’s door. When she did not hear Nora, nor any explosions, she figured the team was already out to lunch and moved on to check the rooftops. Nothing. Then she headed to the library, making a beeline to Blake’s favorite hideouts. She startled a student or two in her mad dash—and earned a glare from the librarian—but Blake was nowhere to be found. The brawler sat down at an empty carrel to gather her whirling thoughts. _Did she find another lead on the White Fang and run off again?_ Yang dug the heels of her hand into her forehead as she tried to stop that train of thought. _No, I need to trust my partner... my girlfriend._ She briefly batted away dire thoughts such as “kidnapped” and “dust accident” before focusing on more mundane excuses. _Blake’s probably off reading her smut and just forgot the time._

Yang sighed and looked around. “Grammar books? _Joy_.” She grumbled under her breath. _Might as well get to it while I wait for kitty cat to find me._ She started writing another message to Blake when she caught the auto-correct changing “grammer” to “grammar” for her. Yang’s frown turned into a malicious grin as she un-corrected the scroll. Once she sent the message, she opened up the list of common mistakes that Blake had provided her and skimmed it, dully registering the entries. Her eyes caught “bear/bare” and “waste/waist” and she suddenly found herself on a tangent that had absolutely nothing to do with grammar.

 _Maybe kitty cat can give her “thorough” apology bent over the carrel desk..._ Yang mused. _She’s quiet enough we might not get caught._ The gurgling of the brawler’s stomach, however, interrupted her licentious daydream. Being hot and bothered _and_ hungry was a bad combination, so Yang stalked over to the shelves and pulled out a couple of books to while away the time.

* * *

Blake woke up in the afternoon sun, instantly aware that it was much later than she expected. She reached for her scroll, wondering why the alarm she had set did not go off. Her heart dropped when she realized that she had forgotten to take the scroll with her, and it dropped further when that meant she had missed her date with Yang.

Fighting her increasing anxiety, Blake steeled herself as she opened the door to their dorm, but Yang was not there. She snatched up the scroll still on her bed and checked the messages frantically. She felt the prickles that portended tears as she saw Yang’s crying emoji, but her cat ears twitched as she read the second message: “Library. Waiting 4 u in the grammer section. ;)” Blake sighed as she headed to the library.

Yang’s golden mane was easy to spot in the nearly empty building. Blake padded up silently and whispered a greeting. She was unsure how the brawler would respond to her tardiness, but the distracted hand that Yang waved was not amongst the options she had expected.

“Did you know that all the crap they tell us about not splitting infinitives comes from some bullshit about Latin? A dead language screwing with how we speak English?! This is ridiculous.” Yang waved a book at Blake.

“Yang? Are you alright?” Blake’s confusion had swiftly devolved into concern.

“I’m fine, but English is screwed by a dead language. That’s not fine.”

“Well, no, it comes from other sources, not just La—” Blake caught herself. Now was _not_ the time to discuss the roots of the prohibition on split infinitives. “Yang, you haven’t eaten, have you?” 

A gurgling from Yang’s stomach seemed to be a sufficient response.

“Yang!” Blake hissed, trying not to shout in the library. “I’m sorry I missed our lunch date, but you need to eat!” Her own stomach rumbled in sympathy. “ _We_ need to eat.”

“Okay, okay. Let me get some of these books and we can get lunch.” Yang checked her scroll for the time. “Blast. I have a sparring session with Pyrrha in half an hour! After that lesson with Goodwitch we’ve both been itching to test her semblance against my gauntlets during in-fighting.”

“We can grab some sandwiches from the cafeteria and reschedule the date.” Blake exhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for snapping at you over your essay, and I’m doubly sorry for missing our lunch date.”

“It’s okay, kitty cat.” Yang’s soft smile went a little crooked as she continued, “I’m sure I’ll come up with some _other way_ for you to apologize.”

Blake stopped herself from retorting. She had already compounded her own screw-up and she needed to accept the consequences. “Whatever you’re plotting, it can wait after you eat something from the cafeteria.”

“What if what I want to eat isn’t in the cafeteria?” Lilac eyes raked up and down the faunus’ body as Yang leaned in for a kiss.

Blake pulled back. “Yang! I’m not letting you go off to spar Pyrrha while starving and aroused!” She flushed a little at her final words.

“Jealous?”

“N—” Blake sighed. “Yes.”

Yang’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline in surprise. Normally Blake was far more evasive when it came to things like this. Was she feeling guilty enough to be unnaturally forthright? Yang resolved to take advantage of this assuredly temporary state of affairs. _Let’s test this out with something light._ “Did your ears twitch when you read my message about being in the library?”

Blake was silent for a moment as she tried to understand Yang’s question before recalling why her ear had, in fact, twitched. “That spelling error was on _purpose_?”

The brawler’s wink and smirk was all the answer she needed.

The faunus ground her teeth. “Fine. I deserved that.”

Yang pushed further. “So... why did you miss our date?”

“I was reading and then fell asleep. I’d forgotten to take my scroll so the alarm didn’t wake me either.”

“Reading, eh? What book?”

“...”

Yang nudged Blake in the ribs. “What book?”

“Ninjas of Love.” The response was clearly intended to be inaudible, but Yang was expecting the title.

“You missed our date because you were reading smut?”

Embarrassment suffused Blake’s face. “I missed our date because I’d fallen asleep!”

Before Yang could continue teasing the faunus, her scroll alerted her to the pending sparring match with Pyrrha. “I gotta go.”

* * *

Yang found herself staring up at Pyrrha’s concerned face with Milo embedded in the floor an alarmingly short distance from her blond hair.

“Yang! Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s broken. I think.” Yang sat up with a slight grimace as she checked her limbs for functionality. “I didn’t get a chance to eat until right before our match and I’ve been a bit... distracted.” _Stood up for some smut. Seriously._

Pyrrha helped the brawler to her feet. “You know better than to fight while starving.”

 _Starving and aroused,_ Yang thought to herself. “I know, I know. Blake’s already lectured me on that point.” _Both points._

“We still have 45 minutes, but you’re in no shape to continue. I guess we could discuss that project we have coming up?”

“That’s not due for a while,” Yang muttered as she deposited herself on a bench and fished out her scroll. “Can you help me with a writing project?”

“Oh, no. No. No, Blake warned me about proofreading your schoolwork for you.”

Yang’s grin positively radiated mischief. “Did she also tell you about standing me up on our lunch date? My next _schoolwork_ assignment isn’t due until a week from now. This—” she gestured at her scroll, “is something else.” 

It was something else indeed. By the time Yang finished explaining the circumstances and details of her intended payback, Pyrrha was shaking in silent laughter. “But why are you asking for _my_ help?” the redhead asked.

Yang guffawed. “Are you kidding?” She began to list off the rest of their teammates, “there’s no way I’m asking my baby sister to help with this. Last time Weiss tried to help me edit my essay for Oobleck the room temperature dropped like 10 degrees before she smacked me in the head with my own scroll and told me never to show her my drafts ever again. If I asked her for help on _this_ project, she’d just turn as red as a tomato and then zap me with a metric ton of ice dust before haranguing me to death. Nora’d probably spill the beans immediately. And then Jaune and Ren are _guys_.”

Pyrrha gestured for Yang to slow down. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the proofreading, but you need to make sure Blake won’t come murder me in my sleep for this.”

“Oh, I’ll be making absolutely sure she’s not going anywhere near _your_ bed!” The brawler punctuated the statement with a salacious grin and waggle of blond eyebrows.

“Yang!”


	3. You and me could write a bad (grammar) romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm blatantly cheating with the jumps (horizontal rules). Internal fic in blockquotes, internal thoughts in italics. See endnotes for additional explanations, disclaimers, and apologies.
> 
> PS: don't make this a drinking game.
> 
> 2/22/16: I ~~fixed~~ _added_ some errors.

Yang headed to the library with a few style manuals for reference and Blake for moral support. Her essay was due tomorrow and she was barely halfway through the first draft. Weiss would have scolded her ears off, but Blake merely raised a concerned—and disappointed—eyebrow at Yang’s status report. Thankfully she did not ask _why_ the brawler was so far behind. Yang dashed to an empty desk and hastily immersed herself in essay-writing, hoping to avoid an interrogation.

Blake watched as Yang anxiously tapped away at her scroll. _Maybe my ultimatum was a bit harsh, but Yang needs some incentive to do her best._ She planted a kiss between the blond brows. “I’ll be nearby reading. Ping me if you need help.”

The kiss eased the tension in Yang’s forehead and she flashed a grateful smile. “Okie dokie.”

Blake walked the aisles until Yang was no longer in sight before making her way to the romance section. She skimmed the shelves for new additions, but resigned herself to re-reading an old favorite when none were found. Her finger hovered over the spine of her intended target when she noticed a small sheaf of papers, smelling faintly of olives and something akin to chrysanthemums, folded and tucked beside it.

* * *

**Knights of Love**

Blake skimmed the opening paragraph, noting that it liberally borrowed from Ninjas of Love with a few choice substitutions to fit the title. _Hardly original_ , came the dry thought, _but let’s see where it goes_. By the second paragraph, the deviations became more pronounced. Instead of the princess and the assassin sent to kill her amid the chaos of clan wars, the story focused upon a king’s entourage in a time of ostensible peace.

 _Wait, the princess’ coat of arms has a ciel_ snowflake _? And her champion’s shield is adorned with a gules_ rose _and an argent cross fleury?_ Blake’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the description of the throne room continued.

> At the center of the room sat the king. To the king’s right stood a knight in golden armor with a shield emblazoned with an or dragon sergeant below a rising sun, and the helm was topped with a plume of yellow that tumbled wildly past the pauldrons. Behind the king lurked a slender shadow clad in soft blacks and grays, topped with violet-lined cat ears, and eyes that burned bright amber.  
> 

_I smell a self-insert fic..._ the faunus' nose crinkled.

* * *

> The assassin found herself drawn to the golden knight that radiated warmth and light so unlike the shadows she normally clung to. Shade found her mind wondering… 

Blake paused. “Wondering? Or wandering?” She asked aloud, genuinely stumped. 

> … as her feet drew her body aimlessly through the halls. 

_Probably wandering. Probably._ Blake’s ears twitched. 

> She ended up at the library, her usual sanctuary where she could be alone with her thoughts. To her surprise, however, the golden knight was examining something on the shelves. In loo of her trustee armor, the knight wore a golden tabard over simple breaches and tunic, and her fare hare—normally braided in a quaff under her helmet—hanged in lose waives passed her shoulders. 

Her cat ears were flat against her head in agitation. She was torn on what horrified her more: ten errors in a single sentence, or spelling “coif” as “quaff.” After a moment of soul-crushing deliberation, the faunus reasoned that since the latter was a subset of the former, therefore the former was necessarily the more horrific. She hesitated to continue reading, but nonetheless felt compelled to see where this fic was going. 

> “Why are you hear?” Shade asked quietly, leaning on the door jam.
> 
> “Waiting for you.” The words were feint, but Shade’s keen hearing caught them clearly and it peaked her interest. Helios turned to greet Shade with a chased kiss on the cheek, but the flames of desire were plane to see. They’re spoken greetings were similarly innocent in wording, but betrayed by the horse timber of there voices. 

Blake had to shoo away the mental image of equine trees. 

> They sat near the hearth, there quite chatter only audible to themselves. Too glasses and a bottle of wine sat on the table, but it was only half empty, hardly enough to explain the fleshed faces, but enough to effect the assassin. Shade extended a pail hand to Helios’ face, fingers trialing along the jaw, drawing the blond nearer. They'd been playing the predator/pray game for so long that neither remembered who had started with what roll, but her patience was warn thin and her resistance week. She went strait for a kiss.
> 
> For a spilt second, Helios froze as she felt lips envelope her’s and felt hands clutching at the boarders of her tabard, pulling her foreword. Taking her queue, she deepened the kiss before Shade could brake away. All to soon, however, she felt the tell tail signs that she needed to breath. Reluctantly the knight released the assassin, both morning the loss of contact. Barely conscience of her own movement, Helios berried both hands in think black locks of hair and begun a second kiss.
> 
> With baited breath, Shade kissed back herder and felt her mind real at the tangle of tongs. She felt one hand at her head shift, ghosting along a seem of her shirt and under the hem, ending with a warm palm on her bear waste. Despite the undo haste, she melted against the night and remained in her embrace ‘til the creek of a waning fire broke the silence. 

Blake rubbed at her eyes, trying to ignore the headache creeping up her temples. _I can probably finish reading this before the headache really settles in._ She sighed and continued on to the next chapter.

* * *

> They’re romance was not forbidden per say, since they had eventually secured a royal blessing—courtesy of the air to the throne—on they’re once elicit meetings. Though Helios could care less about who knew, she excepted Shade’s preference for handling personal affairs discretely. They had developed a deep report, communicating in gestures, rarely needing to speak allowed. However, Helios delighted in pushing Shade’s boundaries, trying to coax the illusive assassin into breeching her self-imposed stoicism. 

Blake’s right eye and left ear were twitching uncontrollably. _Well, she’s not wrong,_ but the admission did little to ease the tension in her jaw.

* * *

> Always weary of hoards of people, and preferring piece and quite, Shade’s quarters we're tucked away from the bustling hall’s of the grande keep. Tonight, the assassin was waiting in her room, listening for Helios’s boot heals in rout to the door. She walked towards the doorway, neatly colliding with wood and iron as Helios swung the door open.
> 
> “You should of knocked.” Shade was in a fowl mood over the gaff. 

_I’d never say it like that!_ Blake shouted internally, willfully ignoring the fact that was exactly how “should’ve” was pronounced. 

> The knight was defiantly unphased by the rebuke. She had the gal to let out a peel of laughter at the site of the assassin caught off guard. But when she tired to enter the room, Shade bared the way. Finally, she tried a different tact. “Alright, I’m sorry I barged in to you’re room without knocking,” Helios apologized with a kiss.
> 
> Shade was loathe to drag out the tension, so she‘d have to make due with a half-heated apology, and the kiss was enough to wet her appetite. Shedding cloths and shear scraps of fabric, they let go of there reigns and lost themselves in each other.
> 
> The assassins nails dug five gauges into the knight’s back as she languished attention on Helios’ neck and teased with her hand. Pined against the walls, she felt the warmth leach from her shoulders even as heat smouldered in her core.
> 
> A frustrated whale pored from Helios’s throat. “Spar me yore teasing!” The knight caught the assassin’s arms in a steal grip and began to tease back, ringing a wonton moan out of Shade. She walked her fingers passed the assassin’s taught stomach and in to slick heat. 

Blake was absently doodling a cranky Beluga in the margins when her mind flashed to an image of Yang’s toned abs and flat stomach. When her mental view started to pan lower, however, she had to shake her head and refocus. _Almost done._

* * *

> Shutters shook Shade’s body as her knees wobbled in the final throws of release, and she let out a chocked breathe. “Lets move somewhere more comfortable then stone,” the knight whispered, catching her previous lover in a bridle carry. 

“Previous lover?” Blake muttered, the thought barely distracting her from wondering about the integration of bridles into nuptials and lovemaking. _Wait._ She pulled out her scroll and examined the keyboard layout. An exasperated sigh accompanied a palm to her forehead as she noted the location of the “v” key, right next to the “c” key. _Well, that’s cute._

* * *

> They feel asleep to the quire of birdsong heralding the sunrise. 

Relief at having finished the fic was displaced by a final burning question. _What in Oum’s name is a quire?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >something akin to chrysanthemums 
> 
> Apparently yarrow ( _Achillea millefolium_ ) smells like chrysanthemums. I could have gone with myrrh as a classic Greek scent, but I wanted to avoid the attendant symbolism and ties to death. Even though Pyrrha's role in this fic is solely for my own convenience, I still adore her as a character so I'm sticking to happier thoughts.
> 
> * * *
> 
> As mentioned in my authors note at the beginning of this fic, I find it hard to tune out proofreading errors. As a way to channel my frustration into more constructive use, I started keeping a list of the errors I'd come across. I toyed with the idea of incorporating the entries into a smut scene, but it wasn't until I came across DinasEmrys' [Audiophile](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1821388) that this meta fic idea really took root.
> 
> The dynamics between Blake and Yang, and their respective personalities and traits, provided a convenient framing story for the fic-within-a-fic. With a little direction and some self-imposed guidelines, I started writing about a month ago. Some of the fic came easily--the first chapter was in its final drafts well before I had more than a few disjointed paragraphs and some notes for the rest of the fic--but I struggled with this chapter in particular.
> 
> I knew it would be impossible to replicate the errors from other fics exactly, since most of them had used a common word in place of a less common word. I had to substitute many of the words the other way around, and still I found it very difficult to pull together anything resembling a coherent narrative while incorporating a very narrow vocabulary (approx. 150 entries, not all of them usable) at regular intervals. I deus ex machina'd my way around using Blake's reactions as a way to break out of the internal fic and allow me to jump to the next scene. I'm super unhappy about the internal fic's end, but I couldn't come up with additional lines to fill it out more. 
> 
> I'm sorry that the internal fic is pretty awkward and disjointed, but that's about the best I can do within my guidelines.


	4. You know that I want you and you know that I need you (to stop torturing me with bad writing)

Blake inferred that it should have been “choir of birdsong,” but that still left the question of what “quire” meant. _Is it even a word?_ She reached for her scroll. Fifteen minutes later, she found herself six windows deep into the history of bookbinding when Yang sidled over. The bookbinding interlude was but a brief distraction from the growing headache, and Blake was looking forward to some painkillers, a hot shower, and a nap. “So you’re done with your essay?”

“Yup!” came the bright reply, with a distinctive pop to the “p.”

Blake moved quickly to her bag and stuffed the fic inside. “ _Good_. I’m heading back to the dorms. I need to be horizontal.”

A strong hand caught the departing faunus’ shoulder as Yang pulled her backwards into an embrace. The brawler kissed a trail up her neck and stopped at her human ear. “Oh, _doooo_ you now?” Yang drew out the vowel with a lascivious lilt. She would have winked, too, but Blake’s back was turned. She settled for a nibble on the lobe.

“I have a headache,” came the flat reply.

“You’re seriously using _that_ excuse?”

“My head hurts, my ears hurt, even my _teeth_ hurt,” Blake turned to look Yang in the eye, “thanks to you.”

“Aww, kitty cat, you didn’t enjoy your reading?” An insufferable smirk was plastered across the brawler’s face as she reached into Blake’s bag for the hastily hidden fic.

“Were you trying to _kill_ me?” The faunus failed to keep from hissing her reply.

“Only the cranky grammar pants part of you!” The brawler demonstrated with a pinch. Her voice dropped into a knowing whisper, “I bet it still turned you on.” A slight crinkle to the nose amplified the smirk.

Rather than dignifying the remark with a retort, Blake simply ducked out of Yang’s arms, grabbed her bag, and walked briskly out of the library. The swift and silent retreat was enough to convince the brawler that her girlfriend was truly not in the mood for teasing. She swept her books into her bag and followed Blake.

Blake could no longer hear Yang’s footsteps behind her by the time she reached their dorm, but—given how quickly she was walking—that was hardly surprising. Hoping to avoid another round of teasing she headed to the bathroom before Yang could reach the room. The hot shower helped a little, but not enough. 

Returning to the room she found the brawler sitting on the lower bunk, looking over a familiar sheaf of folded papers. The faunus raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly between Yang’s upper bunk and her own lower bunk. “What are you doing here?” The question slipped out before she realized she had just repeated a line from Yang’s fic. Blake braced herself for the teasing that was sure to follow.

Lilac eyes lit up in recognition, but the brawler’s reply was whispered, almost shy: “Waiting for you.”

Though Blake could not detect any mockery in Yang’s countenance she hesitated to respond, fearful of a hook in the bait.

Yang looked at Blake steadily. “You said that your head hurt and it’s my fault. I’m trying to make it better.” She cocked a thumb at the glass of water perched on Blake’s desk and her neutral expression slipped into a guileless grin. “It isn’t wine, but I thought you’d appreciate it anyhow since you probably haven’t taken any painkillers yet.”

“How?” Blake trusted that Yang could figure out her full question as she washed down the painkillers with the glass of water.

“Your glass was bone dry when I came in and you normally take pills with water. If you hadn’t used it then you probably hadn’t taken any pills yet.”

Blake shot Yang a grateful smile. “According to your fic, I think I’m supposed to kiss you now,” the smile faltered a little, “but my head really hurts.”

Yang pulled a pillow in her lap and patted it. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Lay down.”

Blake was in no condition to argue. She flopped down on her bed with her head cradled in Yang’s lap. She felt a hand carefully sweep down the back of her head, moving her hair to one side. She closed her eyes as the brawler dragged strong fingers across her scalp, thumbs rubbing at the base of her cat ears. When two pairs of fingers traced gentle circles at her temples, she could feel the headache begin to ebb away.

Yang watched as the tension eased from Blake’s brow and smiled at the quiet purr that followed.

Relaxed and content, Blake found herself answering the mocking question Yang had asked in the library. _Aww, kitty cat, you didn’t enjoy your reading?_ “I can’t tune out grammar problems even if I tried, but underneath it all... it was a story _about us_. I enjoyed _that_.” She felt the brawler’s hands stop moving for a moment before disentangling from her hair entirely, followed by the sound of paper rustling very close to her head. “Wha—?” She tried to sit up, but magical fingers resumed the massage and she lost all willpower to investigate the interruption.

“Then let me read you my favorite parts.”

Blake was pretty certain that the original description of the golden knight did not include the word—if it was even a word—“badassest,” but she voiced no objection. She smiled at the new embellishments and savored the story Yang told.

* * *

By the time they reached the end of the highlights reel, Blake’s headache was banished and the tense muscles in her jaw and neck were soothed. Now that Yang no longer needed to turn pages, their hands were clasped in a jumble across Blake’s chest.

“I was surprised you didn’t write more... explicitly.”

That earned a bark of laughter from the brawler. “Trust me, kitty cat, I would’ve, but Pyrrha wouldn’t let me.”

 _Ah, that explained the scent on the paper._ Blake gave a questioning hum: _continue explaining._

“I mostly asked her to make sure the opening was error-free, but since I’d asked her to look over the whole fic, she put her foot down. Said that she’s put up with enough of our antics and wasn’t gonna proofread hardcore erotica about her friends.” Yang laughed at the memory. “She also said you,” she extracted a hand to tap Blake between her cat ears, “aren’t allowed to murder her in her sleep.”

Blake sighed. “Fine.” Something tickled in her memory. “Did Pyrrha also help you with the shield descriptions? Those were unexpectedly detailed.”

“The blazons? Nah, that’s stuff I learned from Ruby. She’s always loved fairy tales, so when she started to love weaponry, too, the obsessive little sugar monster settled on knights and heraldry. We’d read all about it, together.” Her voice trailed off for a moment, lost in her memories. “I guess I picked up a lot of it even if I never did imagine myself as a knight setting off to sweep a princess off her feet.” Yang snickered quietly. “That was more Ruby’s thing.” Blake could feel the brawler’s arms pull up in a shrug as she continued, “princesses just seemed kinda boring and stuck-up to me.”

“So, given the chance to write your own fantasy, you decided to set yourself up with _an assassin_?” Blake added a teasing tone to her question.

“In my fantasy, I set myself up with _you_.” Yang clarified as she squeezed Blake’s hands. “I figured you wouldn’t be very happy clanking around as a knight with a helmet over your ears, so I had to find something else.”

“I wouldn’t, but fiction isn’t real.” She tipped her head back to look up at Yang’s face from her supine position.

Yang’s gaze was directed elsewhere, distant in thought. “But then your fictional self wouldn’t be _you_ , and wouldn’t be happy either. I want all of you to be happy. I love _you_ ,” she squeezed Blake’s hands as she turned to focus on amber eyes, “and while I might not fully understand your faunus heritage or parts of your past, they still make you _you_ , even a fictional you. It’s silly, but I didn’t want to lose sight of that, even for a prank.”

For a moment all Blake could do was lay there and process Yang’s words. It was the tickling of teardrops from the corners of her eyes that finally brought her out of her transfixion. The faunus rolled and sat up to look into _panicked lilac eyes?_

“You’re crying? What’d I say wrong?” The brawler’s words tumbled out in an adrenaline spiked rush.

“Oh, Yang, you said everything _right_.” Blake flung her arms around the brawler’s shoulders and clung tightly. “You said everything _so right_.” Bringing her forehead to rest against Yang’s, they locked eyes. “Thank you.” Amber eyes fluttered shut as Blake closed the distance between their lips with three whispered words: “I love you.”

The first kiss was gentle, reassuring, and devoid of urgency. The second kiss carried the spark of need and ardor. The third kiss would have ignited a fire in their veins and sucked the air from their lungs were it not suddenly interrupted by the sound of paper tearing and a scroll clattering to the floor. 

_Oh, shit!_

* * *

It took a few moments for the tendrils of panic to loosen into giggles. There was no scandalized Weiss or horrified Ruby at the door, this time, just a poorly placed fic and scroll.

Yang grumbled to herself— _there goes the mood_ —as she retrieved her scroll from the floor before handing it to Blake. “Since you’re up and feeling better, could you look at my essay draft before I turn it in tomorrow?”

Blake’s amber eyes narrowed as she examined the essay. An expression of bewilderment was chased away by one of mild suspicion. “I didn’t catch _any_ word misuse errors.” She paused. “This is markedly better than your usual writing.” She made the statement neutrally, but a slight tension in her brow undermined her tone.

The brawler’s hand shot up to the back of her head in embarrassment as she chuckled sheepishly. “I, uh, I think I’d tried so hard to make all the errors when writing that fic for you that I managed to learn what was actually right. Since I had to look up a lot of words and really pay attention to make sure I was using the wrong one, I guess the lessons stuck.”

“Was the fic was why you were behind on your draft?”

“Yeah.” Another sheepish chuckle.

“Well, it seems to have been a productive use of your time. You wrote a great essay entirely on your own.” A small sigh. “But I still wish I hadn’t said—”

Yang cut her off sharply. “Stop that.” She paused to make sure the faunus was not going to continue the sentence. “You’ve suffered through the fic, I’ve long since forgiven you, now it’s time _you forgive yourself_. C’mon. Stop apologizing about it: we’re even.”

Blake pondered that for a moment. “Well, not quite,” she drawled. She heard Yang growl and watched a shiver of frustration shoot through the brawler’s shoulders. But before Yang could speak, Blake placed a finger on her lips, silencing her, and purred, “if I remember your fic correctly, your fantasy ended too soon—the pleasure was all mine. Shall we pick up where we left off?”

From under Blake’s finger, Yang broke into an incandescent grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Omake:** A little while later the door creaks open. This time there is the sound of two scrolls clattering to the floor.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Alt. omake:** From under Blake's finger, Yang broke into an incandescent grin. "So you're going to give me a happy ending?"
> 
> Blake kicks Yang out of her bed.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Welp, that was fun. I felt obliged to pack as much fluff into chapter 4 as possible so I could use it as a chaser for chapter 3.
> 
> Yes, the errors in chapter 3 were predominantly homophones to (1) ensure that Yang could read the fic aloud and gloss over errors, (2) set a limit on what kind of grammar errors I could make, and (3) stay true to the origins of this fic: a list dominated by homophone confusion. In theory I wanted an internal fic that would look like a train wreck on paper but _sound_ normal, but in practice I needed to trot out some non-homophones, too.
> 
> Now I probably owe Webster's Third New Int'l a blood sacrifice and need to flagellate myself with the Chicago Manual in penance. _Worth it._


End file.
